


a comedy of errors

by inspiringmadness



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Everyone's confused, F/F, Fluff, Hicsqueak, Useless Lesbian Hardbroom (Worst Witch), but typical mildred, evil mastermind?, mildred the matchmaker, she just wants to do something nice for them, sometime in s2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiringmadness/pseuds/inspiringmadness
Summary: Ever since the Spelling Bee (and reunion with a certain pink witch), Mildred has seen a change in Miss Hardbroom. So, because Miss Hardbroom is clearly in love with Miss Pentangle, Mildred decides to play matchmaker. It does not go entirely as planned.
Relationships: Hardbroom & Mildred Hubble, Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch), Mildred Hubble & Pentangle
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - I obv don't own any TWW characters (if I did it'd be a hell of a lot gayer)  
> Title from Shakespeare's "The Comedy of Errors"  
> unbeta'd  
> constructive criticism much appreciated (really all feedback is)

The first person Mildred asks is Miss Drill. She figures Miss Drill has known Miss Hardbroom for a while and might have the answer, so she offers to stay behind and help clean up after class.

“Do you think Miss Hardbroom has a favorite kind of flower?” Mildred asks, huffing and puffing as she lugs an armful of hurdles after Miss Drill.

Miss Drill gives her a puzzled sort of look and shrugs. “Dunno, maybe some sort of potion thing? You can put those hurdles in the equipment shed and be on your way. Good work today, that’s the kind of effort I like to see.”

“Thanks, Miss Drill!” Mildred grins and hauls the hurdles to the shed, dashing away the moment the equipment shed door swings shut and making a mental note of what her teacher said.

She asks Mr. Rowan-Webb next, running into him in the hallway on her way to Chanting.

“Tadpole! Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Mr. Rowan-Webb asks as she darts past him in the hallway.

“Hi, Mr. Rowan-Webb,” she greets, slightly out of breath as she blows a strand of hair that had fallen out of her customary double plaits out of her face. “What do you think Miss Hardbroom’s favorite flower is?”

He hums thoughtfully and strokes his long beard, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he considers his options. “What kind of flower would Miss Hardbroom like?” He muses to himself, his eyes lighting up with glee when he finds his answer. “Water lilies! Who doesn’t like a good water lily? Good for potions, good for hiding!”

“Water lilies,” Mildred repeats slowly, thinking it over and shrugging as she accepts his answer, though she had hoped it would be more similar to Miss Drill’s. “Okay, thanks! I’ve got to get to Chanting, I don’t want to be late again.”

“Alright, I won’t keep you, all this talk of water lilies is making me a bit hungry. Just remember, you can always come to me if you ever feel a bit,” he looks around and leans in closer, tapping the side of his nose, “froggy.”

Mildred grins a tad bemusedly and heads to Chanting, leaving Mr. Rowan-Webb just outside his classroom. His gaze darts around for a moment before his tongue extends and snatches a fly mid-flight with a satisfied hum.

When Miss Bat finally dismisses them at the end of Chanting, having assigned an essay on the history of the Disillusionment Spell that didn’t fail to elicit a groan from the entire class, Mildred wanders up to the front of the class.

“Miss Bat?” She steps up to Miss Bat’s desk, hugging her Chanting books to her chest.

“Yes, Mildred? Do you have a question about your mark?” She fixes her mostly lucid gaze on Mildred with a faint smile.

“Er, no that’s alright, Miss Bat. I was just wondering if you knew what kind of flowers Miss Hardbroom likes.”

“Why would you want to know that?” Miss Bat asks in confusion.

“No reason,” Mildred assures her brightly, giving Miss Bat her most innocent smile, relaxing when Miss Bat seems to accept her answer with a distracted nod.

“Hmm, I suppose…Miss Hardbroom…” Miss Bat’s eyes flutter shut.

“Miss Bat?” Mildred prompts, shifting her books to one arm, not above waving her hand in her teacher's face.

“What? Oh, yes…favorite flowers.” Miss Bat’s voice drifts off again and her head drops to her chest. Mildred gives up and leaves her to enjoy her nap, Miss Bat gently snoring with her hands folded in her lap.

Mildred has potions next and puts the question out of her mind as she struggles to keep up with Miss Hardbroom’s rapid-fire instructions. Soon after they're released to dutifully complete the assigned potion, however, Mildred’s attention begins to wander. When she absentmindedly begins to add her ingredients, having missed what page to turn to, she feels a cool hand wrapping around her wrist and pulling it away from the cauldron.

“ _Mildred Hubble_ ,” comes the familiar disapproving drawl, every syllable of Mildred’s name lengthening as Miss Hardbroom no doubt ponders what the consequence will be this time.

Mildred cautiously meets her intimidating teacher’s gaze and offers up her most innocent smile, though it's never stood a chance with her formidable form mistress.

“I see you are attempting the potion _without_ the book. Do you feel you are too advanced for it? Would you, perhaps, prefer to be _teaching_ the class?” Miss Hardbroom asks silkily, her brows arching.

Mildred gulps and shakes her head quickly. “No, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Good,” Miss Hardbroom remarks briskly, turning away. “Page 58, the Enlarging Potion.” The terse instructions are the last thing Mildred hears from her as Miss Hardbroom silently stalks away to survey the rest of her students with a dissatisfied frown.

With a small grin, Mildred flips to the aforementioned page and begins her potion anew, her smile lapsing into a look of intense concentration. This is exactly why she’s doing what she is. Ever since the Spelling Bee (and reunion with a certain pink witch), Miss Hardbroom has been more willing to help and slower to condemn Mildred’s faults, seemingly becoming aware that Mildred’s non-magical background is of no fault of her own.

When Miss Hardbroom deems their attempts at the Enlarging Potions (even Mildred’s) acceptable and dismisses them, Mildred quickly packs her bag and grabs Maud and Enid on her way out, linking arms with the two of them.

As they walk down the hallway, she reckons they’re far enough away from Miss Hardbroom and repeats her question. “Do you think HB has a favorite kind of flower?”

“Why would you want to know that?” Enid asks in confusion. “I bet she doesn’t even like flowers.”

“I was just wondering,” Mildred replies, perhaps a tad too defensively.

“Oh no, what have you got planned this time, Millie?” Maud asks nervously, already envisioning what kind of mess she’ll get dragged into.

“Nothing, honest.” Mildred does feel a bit guilty for lying to her best friends, but she knows them; they might not take it as seriously as she would need them to.

“Well, I’ll bet she likes something spiky,” Maud says, satisfied enough with Mildred’s answer to play the game.

Enid giggles. “Good one, Maud. But are we sure she even likes flowers. What if she’s never seen one ‘cause they just shrivel up under her gaze,” Enid dramatically acts out a withering flower, and Mildred sighs, but not without a quick look around to see if Miss Hardbroom and her eerie ability to hear her name spoken from anywhere in the school had appeared.

“Never mind. See you guys later.” Mildred turns and begins the trek back up to her attic room.

“Where are you going?”

“Yeah, where are you going,” Enid parrots. “Maud and I were going to see how high we can bounce one of Miss Tapioca’s jellies. Want to come?”

“Nah, that’s alright. I still haven’t finished my essay for Spell Science.” Mildred turns, walking backward.

“The one that was due _today_?” Maud asks, aghast.

“Yeah, but it’s alright, Mr. Rowan-Webb said I can turn it in on Monday,” Mildred assures her, stumbling on the heel of her boot and turning back around. Maud and Enid exchange a look but continue down to the kitchens, one considerably more excited than the other.

Later that evening, hours after giving up on her essay for Spell Science, Mildred sits at her desk, diligently coloring in the quick sketches she had done last Potions class. The idle scratching of pencil against paper, lit only by the dim lamp perched on the edge of her desk, puts her mind at rest. As she glances between the Potions book she got from the library and her messy notes, she has an epiphany, her eyes lighting up. She grins and sits up straighter, settling back into her drawing.

The next day is a Saturday, and Mildred wakes up bright and early, eager to begin her search. She hurriedly packs her already messy bag, stuffing the thick Potions book into it along with the pair of garden shears she had asked her mum to send, having made up a Potions project when her mum had asked why.

Running down to breakfast, Mildred plops down in between Maud and Enid, the two bickering about their adventure of the previous day. Evidently, it hadn’t gone to plan.

“Do you two want to help me with something?” Their attention turns to Mildred, and she pushes away the unappetizing sludge they were served.

“With what?” Maud asks cautiously, regretting agreeing to Enid’s plan the day before, though, to be fair, she had thought it was the only way to keep Enid out of trouble. That did not turn out to be true.

“Oh, look. It’s the worst witch and her posse of disappointments.” Ethel sits down primly across from them, Felicity at her side. “Shouldn’t you be revising or at least finishing your essay for Spell Science so you don’t come bottom of, well, every class again?” She asks, curling her lip. “Honestly,” she scoffs, “and you wonder why you’re the worst. You can’t do anything right. It’s pathetic.”

“Go away, Ethel.” Mildred brushes her off, her mood spoiled, tiredly dropping her head so it was supported by her palm. She’s heard it a hundred times before, she doesn’t need to again.

Ethel gives her a contemptuous look and picks up her food. “Like I’d want to sit with you anyway.”

When she stalks away, Felicity lags behind for a moment. “Sorry, Mildred. She’s just…you know…her mother just mirrored.”

“Why are you friends with her?” Enid demands, her brow furrowing. 

“She’s not…that bad. She’s under a lot of pressure,” Felicity tries to defend Ethel, but her audience is skeptical.

“She’s horrible!” Enid exclaims.

“You’ve just never really gotten to know her,” Felicity protests.

“Yeah, because she’s always mean to Mildred,” Maud puts a protective arm around Mildred and channels their Potions teacher, fixing Felicity with her best disapproving glare.

“Fine. She’s good for me and she’s good for the Bubble. Check out our newest post; an interview with the Star of the Sky.” With one last plug for her blog, Felicity breezes away, presumably to wherever Ethel went.

Mildred stands and moves to grab her bag, but it catches on the bottom of the seats.

“Where are you going?” Enid twists in her seat to watch her friend’s struggle.

“Ethel’s right,” Mildred says glumly, tugging at her bag. “I’m _always_ going to be the worst if I don’t spend all of my time catching up to you. This was a stupid idea!”

She groans and yanks at her bag one last time, the bag’s flimsy fabric catching and splitting with a tearing sound that makes Mildred cringe. Her things are spewed across the tables behind her, students screaming and ducking as colored pencils, erasers, and loose papers down on their heads. Luckily the actual dangerous items in her bag are too heavy to be flung far.

“Why am I unsurprised to see you at the centre of this, _Mildred Hubble_?” Miss Hardbroom materializes in front of Mildred, looming menacingly over the young witch. Mildred flushes and mumbles a quiet apology as Ethel snickers from her place a few seats over.

“Her bag got stuck. She didn’t even try to unhook it from whatever it got caught on,” Ethel leans over the table and informs Miss Hardbroom smugly.

“I was not speaking to you, _Ethel_. A witch does not condemn a sister, much less the leader of her own coven, to unknown consequences for her own amusement. I expect _you_ to know better.” Miss Hardbroom fixes her attention on Ethel, the self-satisfied young witch gaping at her teacher’s reprimanding tone.

With a wave of Miss Hardbroom’s hand, Mildred’s bag is atop the table, newly mended with all its contents returned to their proper places. “Do try to keep your things to yourself in the future,” Miss Hardbroom comments dryly before transferring away. “50 lines. I must think before I act.”

Too stunned by what could be considered Miss Hardbroom defending her (though she still has lines to write), Mildred barely registers Enid mocking Ethel and Ethel’s fired back, ‘shut up’, also stunned beyond eloquence. Shouldering her bag, Mildred trudges away, feeling Ethel’s heavy gaze burning into her.

Back in her room, Mildred tries to focus on her essay, but her heart is heavy in her chest. She had just wanted to do something nice for her teacher, but Ethel was right. She ruins everything. She finishes the essay but can’t bring herself to be proud, though she knows it’s one of her better ones.

Sometime around noon, Maud and Enid join her, one mischievous, the other guilty, and settle on her bed, Enid idly stroking Tabby’s thick, bicolored fur.

“You shouldn’t listen to her, you know,” Maud tells Mildred with a small smile.

“She’s right, isn’t she? I’m always bottom,” Mildred replies despondently, keeping her eyes on the chanting sheet in front of her.

“But that’s not your fault, Millie,” Enid pipes up, “you didn’t learn the same stuff we did when we were little.”

“I know.” Mildred nodded. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to catch up. None of the teachers help me with the stuff I’m already supposed to know, just the stuff from class!” She exclaims in frustration, turning and flopping on her bed beside her friends.

“I’d help you, Mil,” Enid volunteers, “but I’m the second worst witch _and_ I learned magic when I was little.”

“I would too, but it didn’t go well the last time we tried. Can’t you ask one of the teachers?" Maud asks.

“I asked Mr. Rowan-Webb, but he said he couldn’t teach me ‘cause he’s a wizard and he only knows wizard things,” Mildred replies with a shrug. 

The three girls lapse into silence. After a long moment, Enid asks, “what was that thing you wanted help with before?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just going to go look for some potion ingredient type things.”

“We can help if you like,” Maud offers, and Enid nods.

“Er,” Mildred hesitates, unsure if her friends, as much as she loves them, will take it as seriously as she wants, “sure. Here.”

She hands them a list she was working on, and the two huddle over it. “We could probably get most of these from the Potions Lab,” Enid comments. “I’ve got some left-over invisibility potion somewhere.”

“We can’t get them from the Potions Lab," Mildred says firmly, shaking her head. "I was going to go check the garden and then maybe Hollow Wood.”

“You want to go to Hollow Wood?” Maud asks, her eyes wide.

“Yeah, why not?” Mildred gives her a bemused look.

“Well…it’s Hollow Wood.” Even Enid looks nervous.

“I don’t get why everyone’s so afraid. No one said we can’t go in, so what could there possibly be that would hurt us?” Mildred reasons, though her friends don’t look entirely convinced. When they begin their search the next day, however, they do end up having to venture into the woods, Mildred bounding in, her friends trailing behind more hesitantly.

They don’t find everything on Mildred’s list, but when they’ve gathered enough for what Mildred is planning, they turn back. Mildred enacts the second part of her plan alone, finding a spell and chanting it with as much intent as she can muster just before she goes to bed.

When she pulls the covers up to her chin that night, she still has a wide grin plastered across her face. With a happy sigh, she rolls over and turns out the light.

Phase One is complete.

* * *

Settled in an armchair beside a roaring fire with a cup of tea at her side and a thick tome regarding the properties and correct preparation of the shell of the rare blue-crested beetle on her lap, Hecate hears a quiet knock on her door and barely contains her irritable sigh. Setting the book aside, she strides to the door and pulls it open, her brows arching when she doesn't see anybody there.

She glances down the hallway with a glare that promises whoever disturbed her evening trouble but still sees no one. As she’s closing the door, something catches her eye and her gaze drops to the ground. Just outside the doorway lies a small bouquet, a strange combination of potion ingredients held together by a fuchsia bow.

Hecate crouches and picks up the bouquet, bringing it to her nose to sniff and wincing at the sickly sweet smell. Spinning on her heel, she strides back into her rooms and closes the door with a sharp snap of her fingers.

Once inside the safety of her rooms, Hecate considers the bouquet with an appraising eye, fingering a smooth petal. The only person it could be is Pippa, Hecate decides, but that raises the question of why. As she mentally categorizes each plant in the bouquet, her cheeks are tinged by a pale dusting of pink.

Why would Pippa leave a bouquet, never mind one whose elements carry a decidedly romantic message, at her door?

Hecate’s gaze is drawn to the sprig of purple tucked behind a spray of white. She purses her lips and barely curbs the urge to curl her lip, remembering exactly who the gift is from. Once upon a time, Pippa had known Hecate’s…opinions of the oft overrated plant, whose purpose could easily be fulfilled by a different, more potent herb that does not produce the same sickening, floral scent. For it to be present in the bouquet significantly lowers its worth to her, to say the least. 

It has been almost three decades though, Hecate reasons. It would certainly make sense for Pippa to have forgotten one of Hecate’s more frivolous sentiments.

Hecate summons a short vase and tucks the flowers into it, placing it on the corner of her desk and settling back into her reading. Every once in a while, however, she glances up to see the bouquet bathed in the warm light, the smallest of smiles upon her lips.

She has no need for the ingredients, but, well, if it truly is from the pink witch, she will endeavor to better appreciate the gift as much as deserves the provider. Though, admittedly, its beauty pales in comparison. Hecate’s cheeks redden, and she hurriedly turns her attention back to her book. She doesn’t dare peek at the bouquet again, but that bare hint of a smile stays with her through the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a visit from our favorite pink witch

The next day, Ada is the first to tell Hecate, mentioning it off-handedly when the teachers gather for breakfast. Hecate’s eyes go wide and she straightens in her seat, suddenly aware of the rebellious organ in her chest, beating quickly, irregularly as if it hopes to catch her off guard and leap from her chest the moment she gives in.

“Miss Pentangle?” She chokes out, the traitorous sounds not willing to go without a fight. 

“Yes, of course,” Ada replies mildly, buttering a piece of dry toast and popping it in her mouth. “I must say, she seemed quite excited.”

Hecate nods, unsure of what to do with her face, her brows arching (perhaps of their own volition), and Ada gives her an exasperated look. “Oh, Hecate, you aren't going to let this petty squabble between the two of you put a damper on things, will you?”

Though she bristles at the accusation (and the labeling as a 'petty squabble'), Hecate gives a terse 'no' and excuses herself from the faculty table, transferring directly to the potions lab. Organizing and indexing ingredients has never failed to steady her shaking hands and racing heart. 

By mid morning, the halls are abuzz with chatter as the girls scurry to their classes, books clasped in their arms. Hecate has her Year Twos and stands by her desk, her timepiece open in her palm, pointedly surveying the filling room as her students rush into the room in a cloud of youthful frivolity.

By the time she steps around her desk to begin the lesson, everyone is accounted for. Everyone, that is, except Mildred Hubble.

Ethel’s hand shoots up and she sits just a bit taller to gain Miss Hardbroom’s attention. “Miss Hardbroom!” She calls, deciding that her show was not enough.

With a deliberate slowness to her movements, Miss Hardbroom turns and arches her brows at her pupil. “Yes, _Ethel_?”

At the tone usually applied to a certain missing witch, a furrow appears in Ethel’s brow, but Ethel quickly brushes it off in favor of a more satisfying objective. She straightens even further, throwing her shoulders back, and shoots Enid and Maud a haughty look. “Mildred Hubble isn’t here,” she announces smugly, a smirk forming at the corners of her lips.

“Oh?” Miss Hardbroom asks smoothly. “And you came to this conclusion all on your own? Well, then it certainly is fortunate we have a witch of your caliber among us.” Ethel preens, and Miss Hardbroom’s voice drops to the soft, dangerous whisper that sends shivers up the girls’ spines as she stalks up to Ethel’s station. “It is…truly _exceptional_ to see a witch of your age using her greatest asset. Her _eyes_ ,” Miss Hardbroom finishes, her quiet timbre bordering on scathing, and turns on her heel.

“B-But, Miss Hardbroom,” Ethel sputters, her cheeks reddening as giggles break out among her classmates. The witch in question ignores her student’s protests and subsequent childish huff, turning her attention to her missing student’s partners in crime.

“Tell me.” She approaches their station, Maud and Enid sitting closer together than usual as if hoping their close proximity would lessen the Mildred sized hole between them. “What is her…” she curls her lip, “ _excuse_ this time?”

Maud and Enid exchange a quick, panicked glance before turning their gazes back to her. Maud shifts uneasily in her seat and Enid squeezes her eyes shut in preparation. The two blurt out their answers in tandem.

“Witchball!”

“Spell Science!”

“Witchball and Spell Science,” Miss Hardbroom echoes sharply, not missing the accusing glare shared between the two girls.

“Yes, erm, she’s…revising for Spell Science while…er, juggling a witchball,” Maud says with as much confidence as she muster, her words coming out in a messy jumble. Despite her efforts, she is unable to completely hide the slight question in her words.

Enid nods hurriedly, her head bobbing up and down so quickly Hecate catches herself idly wondering if it will topple off with the force of her loyalty.

“Miss Drill said it’d be good for her, er…concentration, yeah, good for concentration. She probably just lost track of time,” Enid jumps in, seemingly unable to slow her nods. “I can go get her!” She’s already halfway to the door when Miss Hardbroom waves her hand and Mildred appears at her station in a crouch. It takes a moment for Mildred to realize where she is, and when she does, she straightens and sheepishly meets her teacher’s narrow-eyed glare.

“ _Mildred Hubble_.” Mildred’s shoulders hunch and she looks at her untied laces hanging limply from her boots. “As you have wasted,” Hecate snaps her timepiece open, “ _six_ minutes of class, you will be joining me in detention tonight.”

Mildred nods and sits at her station dejectedly as Miss Hardbroom strides back to the center of the room, calling out a page number and beginning the lesson.

“Where were you, Mil? We said you were doing Spell Science _and_ Witchball,” Enid whispers loudly as the trio makes their way to the ingredients table, keeping an eye on their stern form mistress.

“Oh, I was just—well, you know…Tabby got scared and then got stuck. I had to help him,” Mildred brushes her off and wanders to peer inside a damp jar.

“Not that one!” Maud whispers, pushing Mildred’s hand away from the jar. “Can we actually try to do well today? She’s already cross.”

“Why’s she cross?” Mildred asks, deeming her ingredients adequate and making her way back to their station.

“I bet it’s ‘cause Miss Pentangle’s coming for some headteacher meeting today,” Enid pipes up with a cheeky grin, barely remembering to keep her voice quiet.

“Miss Pentangle’s coming?” Mildred asks, a grin slowly sliding into place. Miss Hardbroom may have inadvertently foiled her last plan, but this would be just fine.

“Is there something you care to share with the class?” Miss Hardbroom materializes behind them, the trio wincing at the velvety question. They shake their heads quickly and she steps away to reprimand Felicity, who, with a dreamy smile fixed on her face, had been in the process of adding a sliver of a bee’s brain to her potion, a potentially disastrous mistake.

With pursed lips, Hecate surveys her students, every girl, with the exception of Ethel, paying only the barest amount of attention to the potions in front of them. While Hecate abhors gossip in all its forms, she typically allows the girls to speak quietly amongst themselves as long as they pay attention to their work. It, in her opinion, is far too much work to silence them completely.

On this day, however, with the name that has been flying around the room all class, Hecate decides enough is enough.

“Girls,” she drawls, drawing her students’ attention to her, “if I hear the name Pentangle one more time, each and _every_ one of you shall be serving detention with me during lunch.”

“But that’s when Miss P—” Felicity claps both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror.

“Precisely,” Hecate hisses, staring at her until Felicity sinks back into her seat in defeat, reluctantly turning her attention back to her bubbling potion. “Back to work.”

When the class ends, the girls having narrowly avoided the threatened detention and several minor explosions, they stream in the halls, their voices slowly growing louder and louder as the time of Miss Pentangle’s arrival grows nearer and nearer.

* * *

Pippa arrives, as promised, just after the first half of the lunch period had ended and students of all ages surge out of the hall to gather in the courtyard, upturned faces glowing with awe. Hecate stands in the shadows of the entrance doors, watching Pippa’s descent, her lip curled half-heartedly.

The moment the pink witch’s feet touch the ground, she is surrounded by her adoring fans, each clamoring for her attention and very few remembering their proper greetings. Ada navigates through the throngs easily and brushes the back of her hand against her forehead. “Well met, Miss Pentangle.”

Pippa returns the gesture graciously. “Well met, Miss Cackle.” She does a poor job hiding her glance around. “And Miss Hardbroom, will she be…joining us?” She asks, doing an equally poor job concealing the hopeful uptick in her voice.

“I’m sure she’s somewhere around here,” comes Ada's mild reply as the older witch clasps her hands together, smiling warmly at her fellow headteacher. “Shall we continue this in my office?”

Pippa glances around, scanning the surrounding area over the girls’ heads. “Sorry?” She blinks and brings her attention back to Ada. “Oh! Yes, of course! Lead the way.”

As she is whisked away from the crowds by Ada, the two witches slipping through the students with a practiced ease, she catches sight of a familiar timepiece glinting in the shadows. Slowing her stride, Pippa follows the timepiece up to its owner, meeting her old friend’s dark gaze with a small smile. Pippa raises her hand in a tentative wave, not allowing her bright smile to slip when neither gesture is returned as she quickens her pace until she is at Ada’s side.

In the early afternoon, Pippa sweeps into the potions lab during Hecate’s Year One class, her entrance cutting Hecate off in the midst of her instructions.

 _“Miss Pentangle_ ,” Hecate comments tersely, eyeing her intruder with raised brows. “Is there a reason you have interrupted my class?”

“Oh, I do apologize, _Miss Hardbroom_. From now on, don’t mind me, I am merely an observer.” Pippa settles in a seat in the back of the room, a bright smile fixed firmly on her face and a notebook in hand.

With a short nod, Hecate briskly begins her instructions anew, pairing off her students to work on their assignment.

Hecate does try, to pay Pippa no mind, that is, but the task proves more difficult than initially expected. As she moves through the room, reprimanding the starstruck girls and educating them on their near disastrous mistakes, she is acutely aware of the presence sitting just outside her peripherals.

She catches Pippa gently murmuring suggestions to several of the girls sitting near her, rubbing shoulders reassuringly when Hecate’s sharp words bring them down. And by the time Hecate dismisses the class with a curt word and an essay due in two days’ time, she is seething and suspects Pippa might know as much given the pink witch’s inconspicuous exit from the lab.

Hecate sees neither hide nor hair of Pippa for the rest of the day until the pink witch knocks softly on the door of the potions lab in the hours just after dinner. Hecate tenses at the sound but doesn’t turn, continuing to demonstrate the proper way to prepare mandrake root while maintaining its notable potency.

“Hecate,” Pippa calls, “I was hoping we could—oh, hello, Mildred!”

Mildred grins and waves, leaning in her seat to look around Miss Hardbroom to see Miss Pentangle’s smile back. “Hi, Miss Pentangle!”

“What are you doing here?” Pippa asks, looking between Hecate and Mildred, the two sitting on opposite sides of a workstation with the crushed and diced remains of a not insignificant number of ingredients littered between them. A small furrow appears in her brow, but she doesn’t let it affect her bright and cheery tone.

“Detention,” comes the simple answer, Mildred’s attention on the two teachers in front of her. She perks up slightly. “Miss Hardbroom’s teaching me how to prepare potion ingredients. We’re doing, er, mandrake root now.”

Her voice goes up a bit and she glances at Miss Hardbroom questioningly, grinning when she receives a subtle nod of approval. With her gaze already on her old friend, Pippa doesn’t miss the interaction between teacher and student, smiling warmly. “Well, that is just…wonderful!”

“Indeed,” Hecate cuts in icily and finally turns to meet the pink witch’s gaze, just barely catching her wilt. “You may go, Mildred.”

Gaze darting between the two witches again, Mildred offers both a small smile and gathers her things before leaving them to it.

As Hecate returns the unused ingredients to their proper places, she hears a quiet question from the other side of the room.

“Are you angry with me, Hecate?”

Hecate stiffens and considers her response, keeping her back to Pippa as she rearranges the jars of ingredients on their shelves. Finally, she turns and answers brusquely, “I do not… _appreciate_ your interference in my class. They are _my_ students.”

Pippa smoothes out her creaseless dress with a quiet sigh. “You’re right. I overstepped, but…positive reinforcement isn’t a bad thing.” Hecate curls her lip at the very thought, but Pippa presses on. “Just a ‘good job’ here and there won’t hurt anyone, will it?”

After a moment, Hecate’s brows lift and she gives Pippa a haughty sneer. “Are you quite finished _instructing_ me on how to teach my own students?” She asks, drawing out the syllables as her voice takes on the quiet tone that never fails to strike fear into the hearts of her students.

With another quiet sigh, barely more than a breath, Pippa glances down and bites her lip to hide how it trembles with the effort to stay upturned. She looks back up in time to see Hecate’s gaze jump back up to her own and gives her old friend a small smile, a mere shadow of her previous but genuine nonetheless (and beautiful, Hecate thinks, a light warmth jumping to her cheeks). “I don’t want to fight.”

Exhaling sharply through her nose, Hecate’s hands unconsciously seek out the timepiece dangling from her neck. She clasps it between her hands, her fingers tangling together around it. “Nor do I,” she murmurs quietly, the heavy admittance taking more from her than she'd like to admit.

Pippa’s eyes light up with newfound hope, but when she opens her mouth, no sound comes out. It takes her a moment to gather the sufficient courage before she dares try again. “It’s been some time since we last spoke. Do you—would you…like to catch up…for old time’s sake?”

Hecate doesn’t answer, eyeing Pippa carefully before twisting her fingers in a familiar motion. When they materialize in Hecate’s sitting room, Pippa stumbles and huffs. “You know I hate it when you do that!”

Again, Hecate gives no reply, but when she turns away to summon her kettle and set it on the corner of her desk, she allows the corners of her lips to curl up in amusement. “Tea?” She pours the boiling water into a teapot, wordlessly casting a spell so it will steep faster.

“Please,” Pippa replies gratefully. It’s only a moment before a steaming teacup is pressed into her hands. Hecate allows herself a moment to admire how Pippa’s slim fingers wrap gracefully around the cup before shaking herself and picking up her own cup. Pippa takes a sip and hums, her eyes fluttering closed as she savors the flavor. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” Hecate answers tersely, her head bobbing in a jerky nod and her cheeks reddening slightly at being so transparent.

The two lapse into a not uncomfortable silence, Pippa sneaking glances at Hecate as the other witch stares resolutely into the empty fireplace. Just about ready to sigh or stomp her foot or hex her old friend to garner any sort of reaction from Hecate, something catches Pippa’s eye and her gaze shoots to it, her head following so quickly she does wonder about the structural integrity of her neck.

“What a lovely bouquet,” she remarks, hoping her voice isn't as strained as she fears.

Hecate’s gaze too drifts to it, and she offers the answer to a question not yet asked. “It was a…gift.”

“From whom?” Pippa fixes her eyes on Hecate, her intent gaze piercing into the other witch, demanding answers.

Hecate glances at her, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly, and she opens and closes her mouth several times, deliberating over what to say. “I had thought…” she trails off, swallowing her words. They trickle back down her chest, seeping into her heart and freezing it where it beat. The ice spreads, and she schools her features. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.” Pippa takes a step closer to the bouquet, bending and idly fingering one of the components. She takes a breath, and her brow furrows in confusion. With a more deliberate sniff, her entire face is transformed into the perfect picture of ire. Her brows are drawn together and she scowls, pushing the offending plant away from her. “You hate lavender!”

An undecipherable look passes over Hecate’s face, and she nods slowly. “I do.”

“Well, clearly this person doesn’t know you very well!” Pippa huffs again.

“No, they don’t,” Hecate echoes, more to herself than Pippa, her dark eyes troubled as she considers Pippa.

“You know, I recently received a bouquet of my own,” Pippa says, keeping her voice intentionally light as she watches Hecate’s reactions carefully.

“One of your most recent _paramours_?” Hecate asks, her sharp tongue honing the cutting remark with practiced precision, the twisted ice within her chest delighting at Pippa’s flinch while the rest of her screams.

“Is that the time? I-I really should be off,” Pippa says, wilting, a weak smile playing at her lips.

She turns to go, and Hecate finds herself taking a step forward almost instinctively, her arm outstretched as if she could pull Pippa back to her, as if she would know what to do once she had. “Wait!” She calls quietly, desperately.

Pippa turns, her hand on the door and a look of tired melancholy painted across her features. “Why?” She asks in a near whisper, her question heavy with decades long lost.

“I’m…sorry, Pippa,” Hecate chokes out, the scrap of warmth left in Pippa’s eyes fighting the ice’s stranglehold on Hecate’s heart.

“I think…” Pippa looks away, discreetly flicking away an escaped tear, “maybe…it’s been too long.”

Hecate’s hand falls uselessly back to her side, clenching and unclenching at her side as shame springs to her cheeks. After a long moment, Pippa faces the door again, and Hecate panics. She waves her hand, bringing a roaring fire to life and summoning a long since buried memory to her hand.

When Pippa glances back to see what had happened, she softens and turns. Hecate stands with her arm outstretched again, the old chess board, well-loved and worn, gripped in her white-knuckled grip as she braces herself. She meets Pippa’s gaze steadily and offers her the smallest of smiles. “Care to play…for old time’s sake?”

With tears gathered at the corner of her eye, Pippa beams and wipes them away. “I’d like that, Hiccup.”

Hecate’s heart begins to beat again, a slow, careful rhythm that lives to see Pippa smile, and the two settle down across from each other in Hecate’s dark, leather armchairs, the chess board set up between them. They laugh and tell stories once forgotten; they play the game, their fingers brushing over smooth wood, each piece an old memory.

And that night, as Hecate ducks her head to stop the chuckle escaping her lips, her cheeks pink from something she doesn't care to name, and as she gazes at Pippa while the other witch contemplates her next move, her eyes narrowed and her face scrunched up in concentration, Hecate tells herself that if this is what Pippa wants, she will smother the thing inside her that glows warmly, fluttering, when Pippa smiles and bites her lip and looks at her and exists. 

She will do that so she can have Pippa in her life again, even if it will only ever be like this. Because it is just like old times, and she wasn't allowed to love Pippa then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone seem super OOC? That's sort of what I've been working on/worrying about the most, especially cuz I'm working on a longer tww fic. thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! I love hearing feedback!


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